


like a fire in the dark

by ben_jaded



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2020-09-23 18:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20344504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ben_jaded/pseuds/ben_jaded
Summary: Mauga kisses him, and it feels like coming home.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> It figures that it would be this ship that finally got me writing for overwatch.

Baptiste has always known that sooner or later, Talon would send someone he’d have a hard time dealing with, to finally either drag him back or to put him down permanently. He's been flying under the radar for too long; even as he'd killed his former squadmates one by one. The thought that he'd ever cross paths with Mauga again hadn't entered his mind. 

The last time he'd seen the other man, Mauga had turned a blind eye and let him escape Talon's clutches. Baptiste doesn't like to think about why he’d done it, never wanted to question Mauga’s moment of goodwill. It could have been because of their years of friendship or that nebulous thing between them, but Mauga had let him run and he'd been thankful. And now he’s come to drag Baptiste back to Talon.

As he goes over the contents of the envelope Nguyen had handed him, he thinks back on the clinic. Thinks of the empty shelves, Roseline’s look of resignation, and how Sinclair Pharmaceuticals is price gorging — preying on those who can barely afford their medication. It has to stop, and he can help. There’s no way he can walk away from the chance to help Roseline. 

That’s always been the issue with him; his soft heart and his hero complex always getting the better of him. 

He takes a hot shower, hoping that the hot water would take some of the edge off his stress, get rid of that feeling of helplessness, and clear his mind. 

It doesn’t. 

Somewhere between lathering soap over his skin and letting the hot water rinse down his body, Baptiste mauls over his next move. He knows he can't run anymore. With Mauga in the picture, he has no choice but to take the mission. The other man might have been his partner back when he’d been in Talon’s claws, but he knows if he doesn't show up tomorrow morning, the other man will track him down. And he has no idea how that would end. 

No, that's not true, he knows exactly what Mauga wants and the outcome he’s aiming for — to bring him back to the fold. Back when they'd first met, he and Mauga had an instant connection. The camaraderie between them grew easily. They’d been inseparable back when Baptiste was young and naive enough to think Talon would help him right the wrongs Overwatch couldn’t and bring peace and stability to the world. But their paths diverged so much in the last few years.

The last four years haven't been kind to him, but he's been _free_ — free to help where he could and mete out justice when necessary. He wants nothing that Talon’s offering, and he’ll never willingly go back. He’s tired of killing. After leaving the Carribean Coalition, he'd joined Talon hoping to save lives, but instead, he ended up taking so many lives. He doesn't think he'll ever get the blood off his hands. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _God, he’d been so naive back then. _ _

_ _Lying flat on his back, the mattress creaks as he fidgets on the bed, unable to settle into sleep. Through the window, he can hear the myriad sounds of a summer night; from the chirping of crickets to the honking of a horn as a car passes by throwing light into the dark ceiling of his hotel room. _ _

_ _His mind wanders back to that last lingering look Mauga had given him at the bar. Truth is, had the circumstances been any different, had they met as former partners reconnecting after years of being apart, he knows he would’ve given in and brought Mauga back to his hotel room. The pull between them has always been hot and demanding, and he’s never been able to deny it. He thinks on how easy it would have been — to give in, to let Mauga walk him back to his hotel, onto a bed, to undress him, to lie naked, and have those hungry amber eyes devour him. It would be so easy to have let the other man take him apart with his fingers, mouth, and cock._ _

_ _In the privacy of his own mind, Baptiste can admit that during these last four years, he's thought about it: the weight and firmness of Mauga’s powerful build, the searing heat of his skin as Mauga's body pressed against his. The abrasive feel of Mauga’s beard against the insides of his thighs, the salty tang of his sweat-slick skin, the feel and taste of his mouth. He’s thought of the feel of those strong long fingers and thick thighs pinning him down, how they'd flex in a hypnotic shift of muscle and sinew under his grip, and the sharp ache of his canines as he peppers bruising bites all over Baptiste's skin. He’s missed how easily Mauga could pick him up, and carry him around as if his weight was negligible. He's missed the way Mauga dwarfs him, made his usually large frame feel smaller, how he’d always fit against that big body, like it’s the only place he could possibly belong. _ _

_ _In his darkest moments, sometimes he thinks, if Monte Cristi hadn't happened, would he still be with Talon, turning a blind eye to the death and destruction the organization he trusted was meting out? The answer he knows, is no. The Omnic Crisis might have tried to turn him into a killer, but he was born to heal, to protect; it's his calling._ _

_ _ _You keep me alive and I'll protect you_, Mauga had once told him. In Mauga, Baptiste had found a person to focus his protective instincts on. And for the first time in a long time, he had the same in return. He and Mauga had been partners, in every sense of the word. They’d kept each other safe, had come to trust and rely heavily on each other on and off the field. He'd been Mauga's conscience and moral center, that voice of reason when the other man was caught in the grip of bloodlust. __ _ _

_ _ _ _And when Baptiste got too into his own head, ruminating on what he’d allowed Talon to turn him into — all the blood on his hands, and all the lives he should have but couldn't save — Mauga had always been there. He had been like a blanket of warmth and security, a steadying presence when Baptiste thought he would drown in his thoughts. And that's what he's missed the most. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _It was just his luck that the first time he gives in to the homesickness and comes back to Haiti, Talon — no _Mauga_, Nguyen had made that perfectly clear — decides to track him down. There’s a small part of him that wants to run, to pack up his meager belongings and disappear into the night. He'd only planned to be here for a few days and had the resources to make it happen. But he knows who would suffer: Roseline, the clinic, the villagers. Mauga is more than capable of burning the whole place down to make a point. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Baptiste is a man of his word, once given, he wouldn't back down on a promise. He loves this village too much to release Mauga's wrath upon them._ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

Baptiste lies brooding in the dark of his hotel room, having long since given up on the idea of sleep, before he’s interrupted by a knock at the door. The hair on the back of his neck stands up as he turns the lights on and makes his way toward the door. The shadow on the other side of the door can’t be anyone other than Mauga. 

Baptiste feels some trepidation and a trickle of fear. Run. Move. Hide. His brain issues the standard flight responses. But there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. His heart racing loudly in his chest, Baptiste takes a long, steadying breath and opens the door.

Still dressed in that gaudy tropical shirt, Mauga seems to fill the entirety of the hallway with his powerful build and overwhelming presence.

“I wasn’t gonna run, you know,” Baptiste blurts out by way of greeting.

Mauga grins, wide and easy, his sharp canines on full display as he shoulders his way into Baptiste’s hotel room. “I didn’t think you would, buddy.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Baptiste asks wearily, closing the door behind him. All his instincts scream at him to be cautious; Mauga is a dangerous man. 

"I've missed you, my friend," Mauga answers Baptiste in a booming voice, patting him hard on the shoulder. Baptiste freezes, his body tensing. The touch sends a skitter of awareness through him, causing goosebumps to pebble his skin. Mauga’s hand lingers as he squeezes Baptiste’s shoulder. 

His touch has always promised warmth, safety, and comfort. But at the moment, Baptiste only feels uneasy as he tries to fiercely ignore the prickles of apprehension when Mauga invades more of his space. He knows better than to twist out of that tight grip. "That still doesn't answer what you're doing here."

Mauga laughs, his golden gaze focused squarely on Baptiste. His hand is hot and heavy where it rests on Baptiste's naked shoulder, close to his racing pulse. Mauga’s stare holds both ruthless calculation and a barely concealed hunger as his eyes slowly trail over him, a combination that startles Baptiste and makes him feel on edge. 

The tension in the room feels tangible. The burning heat of his stare so intense that the longer they stare at each other, the more uneasy Baptiste becomes, to the point he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin as his heart thunders loudly in his ears.

“Are you saying you don’t miss me?” Mauga asks teasingly, his voice low and husky as his thumb strokes up the side of his throat, coming to rest against Baptiste's fluttering pulse. 

Baptiste swallows hard, heart pounding in his throat as Mauga's hand slides from his neck, turning it so that the back of his knuckles glide along his clavicle and sternum. 

“Don’t you want to catch up?” he asks in a deep suggestive tone.

Mauga's words say one thing, but his tone and actions say something completely different. Baptiste remembers that look and the only talking involved had always been Mauga's filthy praises as he'd played Baptiste’s body like a finely tuned instrument. Striking cords deep inside, reaching a fever pitch, until it was too much, too intense, and Baptiste found himself falling apart quickly, easily under his ministrations.  
Baptiste sucks in a breath as want — burning hot — rushes down his spine, his stomach tightening in arousal. The feel of those rough warm hands against his naked skin makes him ache with need. 

He tries to quell the sudden warmth pooling in his gut. He takes in a shaky breath, tries to remind himself of exactly who is standing before him: a man capable of unspeakable savagery, who killed for Talon because they paid him to do it, because he _liked_ it. 

Baptiste has always prided himself on keeping a clear head under pressure. Still Mauga’s presence has thrown him off balance. Making him hyper-aware of the other man — from the formidable width of his broad shoulders, the way his tattoos stand out against his defined chest and the thick muscles in his legs — which are barely contained by his cargo shorts — the set of his strong jaw, and the wildness of his golden gaze. Mauga is beautifully built, all hard curves and angles, and Baptiste has never been able to control his attraction to him. 

Mauga’s knuckles lightly graze across the taut peak of a nipple. 

Baptiste shivers, teeth sinking into his lower lip to keep from moaning, as those knuckles slide further down, over the ridges of his abdomen. Tension coils low and deep in his stomach, his abdominal muscles jumping when Mauga turns his hand around. The firm heat of Mauga’s palm laying flat against his lower abdomen, thumb caressing at his navel. 

Baptiste opens his mouth to tell him to stop, but his body betrays him when Mauga slides his fingertips underneath the waistband of his sleep pants, grazes the tip of his cock. He chokes on a gasp, a ripple of heat flooding through him as his body responds, coming alive under his touch. 

Mauga stops, his large warm fingers a hair's breadth away from his twitching cock. His bronze gaze studies Baptiste intently in a long, unnerving silence before he settles his palm against the hot weight of his cock, stroking along its length. 

Baptiste licks his lips nervously at the raw hunger he sees in the darkening depths of his golden gaze. "Merde," he hisses out between clenched teeth, wanting so much to arch into that touch as Mauga strokes him to hardness.

Mauga's eyes fall to his mouth. Then something flickers in the stare Mauga levels at him, and suddenly there's a hand on his nape. A brawny, corded arm enveloping his waist. 

He finds himself being brought flush against a hard, hot body. The warm press of Mauga’s mouth against his surprises him into stillness. The touch of his lips, gentle yet firm. 

Mauga nips and sucks on his bottom lip, traces their shape with the tip of his tongue, then flicks against the seam of his lips, his tongue asking for permission to enter. 

Baptiste’s pulse picks up, his eyes fluttering shut as his hands fisting at the lapels of Mauga's shirt, tugging him in even closer as he parts his lips, inviting him in. Heat radiates from his bare skin — a scorching brand as Mauga licks his way into his mouth, tongue exploring the depths of his mouth with slow sensuous movements, his kiss hot and demanding. 

Mauga kisses him, and it feels like coming home. The years seem to slip away, like it hasn't been four years since he last had Mauga's large meaty fingers on his hip, holding him still as he ravaged Baptiste's mouth. They kiss, and Baptiste can't remember why he'd been dreading this. He can't think past the feel of Mauga’s tongue brushing against his, of the slick, perfect heat of Mauga’s mouth.

Baptiste lets it happen, lets his passion and his unbearable need drive them both. It’s easy to lose himself — to the familiar taste and feel of Mauga's mouth, to yield to the passion invoked by his kiss. He falls pliant against that warm wall of muscle, heart beating a rampant tattoo against his chest as their tongues meet, stroke and glide against each other. 

Eyes closed, Baptiste slides his hands under the soft cotton of his shirt, against the warmth of Mauga’s skin. His hands move to grip the other man’s shoulders, his fingers sinking into hard muscle, pulling him down harder. 

God he’s missed this, how the touch of those lips makes him feel alive, makes him feel wanted. 

Ending the kiss, Mauga trails his knuckle gently down Baptiste’s cheek, pressing his forehead to his.

Mauga runs his nose along the curve of his neck, kissing the skin behind his ear before growling approvingly against Baptiste's ear, his warm breath hot against his skin. “You feel so good.” His hands skim Baptiste’s form, molding him against his body. His hungry mouth leaving biting kisses alongside Baptiste's exposed skin, blocking out all rational thought. 

Baptiste sucks in desperate gulps of air as Mauga nuzzles at his neck, leaves lazy kisses along the underside of his jaw. He mouths at the column of Baptiste’s throat, teeth biting gently into the juncture where neck and shoulder meet, sucking a bruising mark into his skin. 

“Mauga,” Baptiste groans, head tilting back to give the other man a better angle. His grip on Mauga’s shoulders tightens as the other man drags a hot tongue up his neck. The heat of it heading straight to his cock, making it twitch in his sleep pants. 

Baptiste breathes in his woodsy, musky scent, reveling in the way Mauga held and touched him. Nothing else seems to matter beyond the aching need burning low in his abdomen. Mauga's lips set his body ablaze, sending his senses into disarray. He loses himself in the feel of the hard press of Mauga's arousal straining against his stomach, and the pressing need for more. He shudders at the rasp of Mauga's beard against his skin, his body remembering that same rasp against his chest, his abdomen, the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, and all that follows.

Even as the heat of their kiss sizzles through him, Baptiste knows he shouldn’t want this. He might have fantasized about this, but their meeting hasn’t been on good terms; Mauga knows him too well and is using his weaknesses against him to manipulate Baptiste into doing what he wants. His touch always has a way of chasing away everything else, making it easy to forget. And Baptiste knows he can’t forget that. No matter how good an opportunity this is, he hasn’t really been given a choice. And them doing this will only complicate matters in the end.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” Baptiste says as one of Mauga’s hands began to wander along the naked skin of his back. The larger man’s fingers trailing up and down along the curve of his spine, then smoothing down his side until it settles on the jut of his hip above the waistband of his sleep pants. His fingers digging into Baptiste’s hip possessively. The other hand cups his neck, stroking the soft skin behind his ear. His hands are so big and strong, callous-rough from years of handling various weapons. And all he can think about is Mauga rubbing them all over his body. Baptiste shifts in the man’s hold, his hips moving up against the heat of a meaty thigh, a shiver of arousal moving through him. 

Using the hand around his nape, Mauga tilts Baptiste’s face up, fingers toying with his hair. Eyes half-lidded, Baptiste can see the desire there in his darkened cognac eyes. “I do,” he answers. His hand slides over the curve of Baptiste’s ass, squeezing slowly, like he’s testing the firmness of the flesh, stroking the muscles flexing beneath his fingers. “Just a different kind of talking.” 

“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” Baptiste retorts, staring up into that hot, hungry gaze. He feels helpless in the face of that hunger. There will be no talking, not with the way Mauga’s length — a hot, rigid presence — rests against his stomach. Whatever happens between them tonight will be purely physical. ”What if I kick you out of here?" 

"But you're not going to." An arrogant grin spreads across his face before Mauga captures his lips with another hard press of his own. 

A low growl comes from the back of Baptiste throat as Mauga’s burly body presses him against the door of his hotel room. The bold strokes of his tongue sends electric heat scorching through his body as their uneven breaths melt together. 

His arms wrap around the hard muscles of Mauga’s waist, his nipples pressing into the hard planes of that broad chest as Mauga deepens the kiss, his huge body pinning him there while his hands and mouth roam. Baptiste’s nails dig into the muscles of Mauga’s solid back.

Mauga’s hand twists into his hair, blunt nails scraping across his scalp, his mouth voracious as he kisses Baptiste hungrily.

Baptiste groans as the hard points of his nipples brush against hot skin, a sweet kind of torture that has his cock throbbing. He moans when Mauga works a thigh between his legs, pressing hard against his aching cock. 

Baptiste breaks the kiss, pants against his mouth. His lungs feel too small, ready to burst, his breath coming in short gasps. His body burns with need, his erection pushing hard against the fabric of his pants. And he aches with the sudden need to be pushed down onto the bed, to be pinned down, trapped under Mauga’s huge frame as his bulk hovers above him. His eyes lighting up with that wicked glint in his eyes that promised to deliver pleasure until his toes curled. 

“Fuck," he murmurs, twisting against the door, leaking cock damping the front of his pants as he grinds against that thick thigh.

“You like that, baby?” Mauga asks, in a low voice, lips slated in a knowing smirk.

_Too much_, Baptiste thinks, biting his bottom lip when Mauga moves his leg, so it's exactly where Baptiste needs it — right against his throbbing cock. His heated gaze tells Baptiste he knows exactly what he’s doing, and Baptiste doesn’t want to stop him. He needs more. 

"You can’t," Baptiste says, panting against his mouth, nearly rutting against his thigh now, "fuck me into doing what you want."

"You’re right," Mauga says, his voice a husky pant as his eyes bore steadily into him. He pushes his thigh up higher and nips at his throat, "this is an incentive." The hand on his hip forces him to move slower, to slide along his whole thigh.

Baptiste gets it. Mauga wants to show him what he’s missed, what’s waiting for him when he goes back to Talon. Baptiste isn’t going back. He can’t do it. But this, this he can. He can give Mauga and himself this. No regrets. He wants this. Has missed it. This was never going to end at just kissing.

For an answer, he leans forward and seals Mauga’s mouth with his own. His lips warm and slick, his tongue a hot wetness flicking over his mouth as he rolls his hips against that muscular thigh. His fingers tangle in Mauga’s thick wavy hair, pulling him closer to his mouth as he breaks from their slow rhythm to grind against him faster.

A powerful arm snakes under his ass, lifting him as Mauga wedges his hips between his legs. 

Baptiste inhales sharply, biting back a moan when he feels the heat of Mauga’s erection—thick and rock hard—pressed against his. His head falls back against the door as Mauga’s lips move over his erratic pulse. Mauga’s tongue sears a wet trail to his ear, which his teeth then grazes. 

"See," Mauga whispers gruffly into his ear, "your body is honest, even when you choose not to be." Mauga’s lips plant kisses down Baptiste’s chin, over his jawline. His tongue sweeps along the length of his neck to the base of his throat where he leaves moist kisses in the hollow of his throat.

Baptiste wraps his legs around Mauga’s waist, bucking against him, helpless as he rolls his hips seeking friction, need setting his blood on fire. Steadily he rubs himself along the hard ridge of Mauga’s erection, the last vestige of his self-control falling away. Shuddering, he drops his forehead against Mauga’s. 

Mauga raises his head, their eyes lock, his breathing as every bit as ragged and out of control, fills the silent room. Eyes boring into his, Mauga whispers roughly into the space between them, “Baptiste, tell me that you want this.”

Baptiste rests his hand against the hard planes of Mauga’s unyielding chest, feeling his heart beating, steady and strong, against his palm. His other hand reaches up to cup Mauga’s jaw, the coarse hair of his beard. His fingers run over the hard line of his jaw, his index finger tracing the fullness of his lower lip. 

Baptiste’s breath hitches when Mauga’s lips catch the pad of his index finger and suck it into his mouth. He bites down, then gently caresses it with the tip of his tongue. 

This is such a bad idea. He should stop this, end it now while there's still a chance to do so. It would be the right thing to do. 

But he doesn't want to stop. This barely dents the depths of his hunger, a raw and desperate thing. He wants this, needs it in a way he’s never needed anything before. Being in Mauga’s arms has always felt right. For one night, he wants to stop thinking, to toss his cares and worries and common sense aside and spend hours making love, letting their bodies do all the talking for them. Because most of all, what he wants is to have this: to be pinned against the door, his legs wrapped around Mauga’s waist as he ruts against him until he cums. He wants to imprint the very feel of him into his skin. He wants — needs, so much, always him, only him — is to be devoured. 

Pulling himself away, he rests his head against the door as he tries to slow his breathing, his chest heaving heavily. In a ragged voice, he says, “just tell me one thing.”

Mauga’s big hand covers his hand where it rests against his jaw, and presses a kiss to the center of his palm. The heat of his soft lips makes Baptiste squirm against him. “Anything,” he replies huskily, the dark hunger in his eyes all-consuming. “What do you need?”

His pulse thuds a rapid staccato. He licks at his lips, he finally asks, “Why did you come here tonight?”

“I missed you,” Mauga breathes, looking up at him with sincere golden eyes. “Isn’t that enough?”

It’s more than enough for this. There’s still so much left unresolved between them. So much to explain, about why he’d needed to walk from Talon — away from Mauga. He hopes there’ll be enough time to hash things out between them. Before he goes back to doing the one thing he’d thought he’d never have to do again: take a mission from Talon. 

This is the most reckless, impulsive thing he’s done in years. 

_No regrets,_ Baptiste thinks as he wraps his arms around Mauga’s neck. Swallowing hard, he whispers in response, “yes, I want this. I missed you too.” 

It seems that’s all Mauaga needed to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks, Galaxiaa7 for looking this over for me. this was actually going to be really smutty and earn that explicit warning. I made a whole ass [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/597nFFJGsO7iOxuScatmeQ?si=7ZhMLj2HRHSfjWQZ_sBEhQ) and everything, but I ended up changing my mind>< I might still post the smut, but this seemed like a good place to end it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
